


Lego House

by minhoscallousedhands



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grey's Anatomy, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, F/F, F/M, M/M, Medicine, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, everyone's a surgeon, or a surgeon in training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4946794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minhoscallousedhands/pseuds/minhoscallousedhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is something very close to my heart. I love Grey's Anatomy and Maze Runner, and they had a baby in my head and here it is.</p><p>Character equivalents (although I'm mixing up bits and bobs of their detail among everyone bc it makes more sense that way):</p><p>Meredith Grey ~ Newt<br/>Derek Shepherd ~ Minho<br/>Amelia Shepherd ~ Sonya<br/>Miranda Bailey ~ Harriet<br/>Owen Hunt ~ Gally<br/>Calliope Torres ~ Teresa<br/>Arizona Robbins ~ Brenda<br/>George O'Malley ~ Thomas</p><p>And more characters to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I poured my heart into this, listening to the song Lego House on repeat for three days. I cried myself to sleep bc Ed Sheeran.
> 
> At this moment I only have two chapters up my sleeve, it all depends on how much you guys like it. If you do, please let me know, and I'll definitely write some more. Enjoy! x
> 
> PS: If you have a hard time picturing Newt crying, remember "Death of a Superhero" :')

The Emergency Room in the Surgical Wing of Glade Hospital had never contained so much of its own staff before. The beds were mostly empty this morning, but a group of nurses, residents, interns and surgeons were milling about the room without regards to whether it was their shift or not. It could have been just a car crash, only that the man behind the wheel was way too important for this hospital to mistreat. 

Thomas, a tall intern with short brown hair and squarish framed glasses was standing in front of the door to intensive trauma room in a rather defensive stance, while the man standing before him appeared plainly upset. He never met this person in this hospital before. He's considerably taller than him, with porcelain-like skin and messy, dirty blonde hair the length of his earlobe. He didn't look the least bit intimidating until he opened his mouth.

"What the fuck? I can't come in? What—who are you to—It’s my husband in there!" he had a British accent that was wearing thin, but still there on every word he tried to emphasize on.

"Maybe it's best if you calm down dr.. dr.. Newton." the unsuspecting intern tried to keep his cool. _So this is the husband dr. Hunt had been talking about_ , he thought. He exhaled slowly, mentally patting himself on the back for remembering his name. God knows what was going to happen to him had the man known he didn’t recognize him.

"My husband is injured in a car crash and you're telling me to calm down?" he stepped closer to tower over the poor intern. The crowd that initially did not seem to have any business being in the room gathered around their newfound point of interest.

"I'm very sorry dr. Newton but--." Thomas' voice dwarfed half its initial decibel at the harsh glare thrown by the older doctor. As the crowd grew quiet, Thomas could have sworn he could hear his own heart thumping against his ribcage.

"Whose intern are you, dr. Thomas Edison?" Newt glanced at his nametag. _Some name_ , he thought. "Where's your boss, ha?"

"Newt, Jesus Christ, calm down!” A woman in her early thirties stood up from her seat behind the nurse station right across the intensive trauma room. Her long, wavy, dark hair was worn down, framing her slender face that seems permanently lightly blushing. She was wearing a dark blue scrubs and a pair of maroon runners. Thomas recognized her from his first day here—dr. Teresa Agnes. She broke into the crowd and threw them a dirty look. “Hey! This is not for show, alright! Don’t you guys have work to do?" the crowd dispersed, although hesitantly, and finally disappeared into where they were supposed to be. Thomas took his chance to return to the intensive trauma room, hoping he wouldn’t have to see Newt again.

"Thomas is Gally's intern. He's taking care of Minho as we speak. You're not helping, Newt. Come." She hugged the taller man by his torso, walking him away from the ER to a small hallway just a little further inside the hospital. There was a line of sofas and some piles of magazines where patient's family members usually wait at the end of the hallway. She motioned him to sit down and he followed suit.

"That's bollocks, 'Resa. Minho would want me there. Oh gosh, I'm not letting that idiot drive anywhere from now on." Newt started hyperventilating.

"Hey. Minho is going to be just fine. "

"You don’t know that! You haven’t even seen him!"

“Gally was very particular about not wanting anyone to be in there except for that bloody intern.”

Newt buried his face in his palm. _What’s with all the secret keeping?_ He couldn’t accept this. “What do you think is going on then, Teresa?”

Before Teresa had the chance to answer, not that she wanted to, a middle aged lady in a pastel green scrub—nurse’s—walked over to where they were sitting. "Dr. Agnes? Dr. Hunt needs an ortho consult."

The blonde man that was enraged earlier suddenly felt like his insides had turned into goo. "Oh no, Teresa, No! Gally needs you? What could it be, Teresa? Not his hands. He needs his hands, he's a neurosurgeon, god damn it, we all need our hands alright?? We're all surgeons." Ramblings escaped his tired mouth while his heart was sinking deep into an abyss.

"Isaac Newton, please. I know this is hard for you, but let’s just trust Gally on this, okay? I will take care of Minho. I'm the best orthopedic surgeon there is, remember?"

"Please update me, 'Resa, anything."

"I will, just.. Stay in the on-call room, lock the door. Just sleep, do whatever you need to calm down."

"I-uh.. Alright, fine. Page me as soon as you're done checking up on Minho, please."

"Go. Just calm down, Newt."

\--

"Gally. Is he still unconscious?" Teresa entered the intensive trauma room, followed by Thomas. Dr. Galileo Hunt, Gally, is the trauma surgeon in this hospital. The guy has broad shoulders, long legs, freckled face framed with strongly arched eyebrows, making him seem a lot more intimidating than he actually is. His history of serving in the army doesn't help with his reputation in this hospital. He's scary-looking, period.

The man absentmindedly scratch his knotted forehead while blankly starring at the rows of x-rays displayed on the light panels. "Sadly. Took him to CT scan when you distract Newt. I hope there's no serious damage, Sonya is reviewing the scans now. How's he doing?"

"Told him to lock himself in the on-call room." Her face was twisted in worry as she swept her gaze across Minho's injured head, hand and leg. "What did Sonya say?"

"Haven't heard from her yet. I don't understand why Sonya insists that Newt can’t know about any of this as soon as he can. I mean, they're married, he needs to know." he shook his head in disbelief and looked at Teresa, expecting her to be as confused as he was.

"Newt can't handle this much, Gally. Sonya's his twin and she knows him better than any of us, even Minho himself. At least not after what had happened to them last year." the horror in her eyes when she brought up whatever happened last year were almost instantly recognizable even when taken out of context.

He rolled his eyes. "It was horrible, but it was one year ago."

"It was a _plane crash_ , Galileo. They were in a plane crash, and one of them almost died. In _my_ hands! _My hands_ , Gally." annoyance shrouded her words heavily, obviously irritated at the ex-army doctor’s insensitivity.

"Yeah, sorry. What do I know about surviving plane crashes anyways?" the man shrugged despite sounding genuinely sorry.

"We all know I always get carried away whenever that comes up. Now, where's the left hand x-ray?"

Gally pointed to where he had put up the x-ray. She analyzed it for a bit and thought to herself, _this was a bit more extensive than we had predicted_. She walked over to examine Minho's hand, checking if the nerves and blood vessels are still intact. Still too early to say anything. "Let's just get him hydrated, nice and ready for surgery. Maybe we can let Newt see him then?" 

"It sounds good to me, but I'll run it by Sonya just to be sure. Thomas, wheel him to his room, please."

"See you in the OR, Gally."

 --

A woman in dark blue scrubs welcomed Newt in front of the Intensive Care Unit. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders, almost reaching her elbows. She was as tall as Newt's shoulder. Her face still looked unfairly pretty despite it being folded in a sad frown.

"Don't be mad at me, Isaac." was the first sentenced that escaped her cherry red lips.

Her baby brother’s eyebrows were furrowed in fury. "You're on my husband's case and you didn't tell me?" he spat.

"I'm very sorry, Isaac." she tried to welcome him into a hug, but he didn’t move the slightest bit from where he was standing.

"I'm not a baby, Sonya. I can handle this. I'm sick of you people treating me like I'm some fragile little boy. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself--even after the plane crash. I lost a leg, so what. I got prosthetics. S'all good."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You get all panicky. You wouldn't be able to take it, Isaac."

"Just.. Tell me why are we here in the ICU."

"He suffered from a mild concussion." Sonya gently explained. "His CT scans showed a bit of brain hemorrhage that needs to be drained out, but we still have time to let you see him."

“What about his hands?”

“He fractured the left one as well as his left leg.”

"Take me there. Now." Newt's voice lack intonation, much less emotion. It scared Sonya but it was expected of his twin brother.

“Come.” she coldly replied.

The mercilessly cold air of the ICU welcomed the twin surgeons. The all-white hallway was supposed to pose no effect on Newt due to familiarity, but his face was nothing short of terrified. In retrospect, Sonya was right. He wouldn't be able to handle this alone. He gripped his twin sister's arm tightly before she slided Minho's room door open. His good leg felt like jelly at the sight that the door revealed. His husband looked almost lifeless had it not been for his rhythmic breathing. His olive skin had never seemed this pale, with only clear ointment-sealed fresh cuts and bruises coloring it. His left hand and leg were covered with elastic bandage, immobilized by long planks of cushioned splints.

Newt hurried towards the right side of his bed, kneeling and holding Minho's uninjured right hand. "Oh, my.. Bloody hell, Minho.. What happened to you?"

Sonya stood at the door, letting his younger-by-10-minutes brother absorb the horrible view. Nothing felt more hurtful than seeing her twin brother in so much pain. As a twin sister, she confirmed that one theory about how twins can feel each other's pain even when they're not in the same place. As much as she wanted to distract Newt from what he had to endure, she was already determined to let his brother face the reality.

"Baby.. Look at you. Oh. Can you hear me, Minho?"

"I'm gonna pick up the pieces, and build a lego house.." a tear roll down both of the twin's cheeks as Newt quietly sings the song they danced to on their wedding. While Sonya wiped and dried hers, Newt's kept on rolling, one after another. His heart crushed when images of him playing this song on his guitar to his husband flashed in his head. _I would trade anything to hear your horrible singing voice right now, Minho. Can you miraculously wake up now?_

"..Sing with me, babe.. If things go wrong we can knock it down.."

"My three words have two meanings but there's one thing on my mind.. It's all for you.."

"Sonya.. He's not singing with me.."

"C'mon babe it's your favorite part.."

"And it's dark in a cold December, but I've got you to keep me warm.."

"If you're broken I will mend ya.."

"Babe.. I'm sorry.. I-I.. God, Sonya.. Please tell me my Minho isn't broken.."

"Oh.." Newt sobbed and sobbed. Half of his heart was lying helpless on the hospital bed. He had always been the one who had to be strong for the both of them. He's his stronger half, his shoulder to cry on. Right now, things have changed. Minho needs him more than ever, he needs him not to cry. But the air in his lungs felt like it had been taken out completely. The space grew smaller and smaller in his head and he couldn't breathe anymore. Soon he found himself gasping for air, hand clutching his chest, and he collapsed on the floor.

"Sonya, I can't breathe.."

The neurosurgeon held her twin brother and helped him get up. "Isaac, deep breaths. Come on, now. I have to operate on your husband's brain."

"I can't breathe.. Minho.."

"I know, I'm sorry love. But we need to save his life."

"Please.. I can't lose him Sonya. Not after what had happened last year."

"I know, I'll do my best."

Newt brought his last might together to leave a kiss on Minho's dry and cold lips. "In sickness and in health, Minho.." he whispered before Sonya walked him out of the room.


	2. I'm a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt waited patiently for the love of his life to wake up after the surgery.

Newt came back to the on call room he was in earlier. The room was painted a somber shade of green, big enough to fit two bunk beds and a small drawer, adorned with a sad abstract painting on one of its walls next to the door to its shower room. He decided to lie down and wait for Minho's surgery there instead of joining the others to watch the procedure in the gallery. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Nothing had ever felt as troubling as the idea of his sister cutting his husband's skull open on an operating table. He checked the time on his watch, wondering what would be going on in the operating room. He was distracted by the little square on the left side of the number 3 that showed the date.

7.

It was their 5th wedding anniversary. Reminding himself of the fact that it was July 7th, 5 years from their wedding day, sent pangs of unbearable headache across his head. The happy day had been tainted by this accident and they cannot erase that memory, ever. His mind wandered to the plane crash that took his leg early last year, somehow. What if Minho lose something too this time? His hand? Leg? Memory? God, not his memories, please. His body trembled for the umpteenth time that day and cold tears stream down his cheeks. It was beyond him how he could bring his entire being to cry this hard with very little energy left. A knock on the door spared him from the horrendous torrent of thoughts, catching him mid-uncontrollable cry.

"Can't let you come in." he croaked weakly, nausea crawling up his head and stomach

"It's Bren and Mia!" the voice sounded way too cheery in the middle of the ordeal, but he wasn't even paying attention anymore. The mention of his 3 year old daughter's name hauled him off the bed. He put his prosthetic leg back on, wiped his tears clean first before unlocking the door. Behind it was Brenda, Minho's best friend, also a surgeon--pediatric surgeon, carrying sleeping Mia in her arms.

"Newt.. You look like hell." she mutters under her breath. Getting Mia to sleep without one of her dads was an exhausting task, even for a ball of energy like Brenda. She just can't wake her up after the chaos that was this bundle of rosy cheeks and flowy curls running around the daycare looking for her dads and cry.

"I know."

"Be with your child, Newt. She needs you too, you know." The little girl's eyes fluttered open, revealing their blue irises that closely resemble Newt and Sonya's. They were red and glassy, her nose still pink and swollen--a telltale sign of her post-crying. She was still tucked in Brenda's arms in fetal position, snugly fitting in the space.

"Papa?" Mia reached her tiny arms out towards Newt. He dressed her in a white shirt and a pair of denim overalls that seemed a little too big for her small--but chubby--thighs and looked absolutely adorable in it. He welcomed her and lifted her from Brenda's arms.

"Come here you little muffin." he pecked at her pink cheek. She winced shyly and curled into the same fetal position in Newt's arms. "You been good to auntie Bren? Mm?" her golden curls bounced as she shook her head. "No? What did you do love?"

"I cwy cause I want papa and daddy." she said while toying with her dad's shirt collar. "You said we go to Disneyland today." her cherry lips curled into a pout so cute that it broke his heart. He looked at Brenda with immense sadness shrouding his tired eyes. _How do I explain this to my little angel? Our little angel_.

"Well, you should say sorry and kiss auntie Bren for being a handful." he carried her closer to Brenda and the little girl hugged her.

"Sowwy auntie." she kissed her cheek. Brenda smiled at her but her eyes were glassy, ready to pour in any second

"It's okay baby girl. I gotta go okay? Newt, you know where I'll be." she waved them goodbye and rushed out before letting her tears roll. Newt knew exactly where she was heading: Minho's operating room. Knowing her and her relationship with his husband, she wouldn't let anyone in that operating room make any mistake in treating her longtime best friend. Even if the one holding the knife was Sonya--his sister in law--maybe even more so in that case, because it was his skull she was cutting open. Brenda would rather be there throughout the operation and be the first to know if things go south.

But Newt cannot go through that kind of thing, not after the plane crash.

Right now he just wanted to be with Mia, and try to explain what happened to her daddy. He found her presence soothing and unsettling at the same time. Unsettling because he had to explain the whole thing and not knowing what to expect from her.

"Papa, is daddy coming wif us?"

"No, little muffin. I'm sorry."

"But why, papa? Is he helping sick people?" He sat on the bed and sit her on his lap.

"No, Mia, daddy's not working now. Daddy is.. Daddy's hurt."

"Daddy's huwwt? Whyyy?"

"Well.. He probably felt funny when he was driving and hit something."

"Is daddy going to be okay, papa?"

He doesn't know that. He hates lying to Mia, he never wanted to. But when her innocent blue eyes started to show worry for the first time, he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth.

"He's going to be okay, love. We just have to wait for him now, the other doctors are helping him."

"Okay papa."

"We can still go if you want." What kind of husband goes away to Disneyland with his daughter when his other half is in surgery? He felt especially guilty to Mia since they had promised her that her busy dads will finally make time to do something together for a full 24 hours to celebrate their anniversary. He would do anything to hush his daughter's worries away, even if it means leaving Minho in the hospital then.

"No, papa. I wanna take a nap and wait for daddy."

\-------

Newt ended up taking Mia out to lunch after nap, he figured he could use some fresh air outside of the hospital for an hour or two and some glasses of beer. He had just parked his car in the hospital when Brenda told him over text that Sonya had started closing Minho up and the surgery would be done in about 30 minutes. He looked to his right where his daughter was, sleeping soundly after finishing a hearty bowl of mac and cheese, to find a little peace in his messed up life. Anxiety was ready to eat him away once again--his heart started racing and sweat was drenching his upper body--but the little snoring sound his daughter make and her steady breathing was, and always is, a potent anxiolytic to him.

"What would I do without you, my little muffin." he said as his breath calmed. He carried her to the hospital and headed straight to the ICU. No one had tried to contact him yet except for Brenda, which he found extremely unsettling because if the outcome was good, why would anyone want to hide it from him? As he walked closer to the elevator that would bring him to the ICU, his heart pounded faster, and for some reason his missing limb hurt really, really bad. He limped his way to the ICU door, finding Sonya, Brenda and Gally already waiting for him there. He couldn't make anything out of their expressions, they weren't even there.

"What is it? Just tell me already." he spat in a shaky voice, wincing at the sharp pain radiating from his non-existent left leg.

"Let me hold Mia first." Brenda offered and he honestly would rather have her in his arms, but he digressed.

"You know the drill with brain surgery. We don't know how much damage is done until he wakes up. So far he's not up yet, it's just the anesthesia. He should wean off of it soon." Sonya explained while the group walked their way towards Minho's room. "Teresa fixed his leg, his hands will have to wait since surgery puts so much burden on his already distressed body."

Newt kept quiet. Whatever his sister had said sounds like word vomit in his head although he completely understood it. He just wanted his husband to wake up, that's it, as selfish as it may sound.

"I think I'm good here."

They had arrived in front of Minho's room. Sonya knew better not to argue with his brother and left him with a kiss on his cheek. "Take care." she said. Brenda insisted to stay, while Gally seemed hesitant about leaving, but he did anyways. He was very quiet the whole time, which Newt preferred, but it made him feel like he was hiding something from him. The guy wasn't fond of his husband, they had a long history of rivalry that dates back to their pre-med days. Gally was always second best to Minho and he couldn't accept that Minho was indeed one the brightest minds John Hopkins had ever turned into a doctor. Their relationship had never gone past sarcastic remarks and insults, and some 'friendly' matches of wrestling in the university gymnasium here and there. They were too smart to let this competition to get into trouble, and Newt guessed it's the same way now. Gally was too smart and dignified to mistreat the surgeon that invented the cure of a deadly brain parasite called "The Flare" over a retrospectively nonsensical college rivalry. But he was still convinced that he was hiding something and was determined to find out what that is after Minho wakes up.

"Daddy! Daddy wake up!" the small girl's body struggled to break away from Brenda's arms once she saw her daddy sleeping on his bed with a patch of gauze covering the crown of his head. Brenda didn't anticipate that so she lost her balance for one second, wobbling on her feet and finally letting go of the crying child. Mia didn't even look at Newt or cry for his help. Her tiny legs hurried towards the side of Minho's bed and her arms were flailing forward, reaching for Minho's hand.

"Mia, daddy's just asleep love. No need to cry." Newt sat on the floor next to her, running his clammy fingers through his daughter's curls.

"Papa pwease wake daddy up!" she pleaded.

"Alright, alright, but please stop yelling. Daddy's head probably hurts right now."

"It does." Minho spoke in a hoarse voice, much to everyone's surprise, bringing nothing but relief to Newt's heart.

"Hey.." was all Newt could managed. His hand tightly gripped his husband's, finding comfort in his squeezing his hand back.

"Hey, babe.. Oh.. Where's my little girl.."

"Daddy! Daddy I miss you!" Newt helped her climb up the bed to get closer to her daddy, who was smiling weakly at the sight of his little one squealing joyfully. "Papa let me eat mac and cheese."

"Did he? Ah, look at you my little girl. So cute!" He couldn't take his eyes off his daughter, until Brenda jumped in on the conversation.

"Don't ever do this to us ever again, please." Brenda shook her head disapprovingly, quickly approaching her best friend from the other side of the bed. She whispered to his ear, "Idiot. What were you thinking, driving after a 36 hour shift." then kissed his cheek. "Gotta go. Super busy. Later guys!" she bolted away, leaving the little family alone in the room.

"Happy anniversary, Minho. Pick a better present next time." Newt scoffed and planted a kiss on Minho's lips.

"Trust me, this isn't what I had in mind." he rolled his eyes and smiled half-heartedly.

 _Because I'm not dead_ , Minho thought to himself.


	3. Shirtsleeve

My name is Minho Park. I am one of the nation’s best, if not _the_ best, neurosurgeons. It means I get to cut open people’s brain and sever or reattach nerves for a living. Sounds cool, right? I went to John Hopkins Medical School, which was and still is one of the best medical schools in the world. Yes, the world, look it up. I graduated summa cum laude, got matched easily to one of the top residency program. Point is, I never failed. I am exceptional at what I do, at anything I decided to do, really, since the day I was born. My dad is a very wealthy businessman, and my mom is a plastic surgeon, both living in North Hollywood. They love me. How can they not? Their only child, their only boy I might add, excelled in everything that a typical Asian parent wants their child to do. When I was little, I played 3 musical instruments: piano, drum, and violin, and I did it—yep, you guessed it—extremely well.  I am ambidextrous and it distinguished me from my fellow (ordinary) surgical residents, my learning curve was impeccably steep. Every teacher that I met told me that I am gifted and beyond blessed, but in reality I worked my ass off to get where I am now.

Or where I was, before this dumb plane crash last year. I’ll get to that later.

None of my achievements were handed to me. Everything was earned with my own blood, sweat, and—although very rarely—tears. Including that time when I found the cure for the Flare. I am a scientist, as much as I am a surgeon. Many of my clinical researches had been implemented in daily medical practice worldwide, but this one was the biggest hit of my career. Correction: it started my brilliant career. The Flare is a deadly brain parasite—it’s kind of complicated—but it’s a mutated form of a regular tapeworm (which can cause less life threatening disease, but a disease still) that invades amygdala, part of the brain responsible for emotion.

I had just earned my specialty in neurosurgery when the outbreak started seven years ago. I have always spared some time every week in the lab during my residency, researching megabytes of medical journals and brainstorm… with my own self. Initially, I just wanted to understand how the parasite works and the reason for its selectivity towards the amygdala. The way it works in medicine, by the time you figure out how a certain disease starts and affects human, you should theoretically have no issue in stopping its progression and eradicating it from your patient. The drive to invent cure grew stronger when my then-boyfriend (now husband, as you might already know) Newt was infested by this parasite.

It was particularly terrifying for Sonya. The twins lost their parents and they only have each other. Newt’s dad had lung cancer, and his mom had Alzheimer’s. Sonya clung all her hopes to me. Despite knowing how much potential my research had, I didn’t think it was smart for her to did it. But I managed, as usual. Anyways, since the parasite affects his emotional control, his behavior became—for lack of better words—strange. Sometimes he would be my loving, caring, smart ass Newt, but other times he would go absolutely nuts. Nuts how? First, his mood changes every other five minutes for one day. The next day, he was depressed all day long. Then the next day he got really happy, he forgot how to stop laughing. He laughed at everything and it was terrifying. It went on for five to seven days, then Newt would have one sane day between going batshit crazy. I admitted Newt in the hospital I was working in, tracking every single movement of the disease in him. The disease takes up to five week to kill the infested, and it terrified me even more knowing that his days were numbered.

When Newt got it, I was only halfway done with my research. It changed my pattern of work considerably: I created a timeline, with an endpoint of finding a cure. I spent days in the lab and went to see Newt on his sane days. Whenever I visited him, he would always beg me to make all the pain stop. Despite his erratic behavior on the crazy cycles, he also felt a terrible headache continuously, each day more painful than the last. I never felt like I had so much at stake. I had started saving up for our wedding and the house we’re living in now—I had planned my future with him and I couldn’t possibly afford to lose him. Well, it wasn’t like I was the only scientist doing all the research on the Flare, but I was well aware that not everyone had the same time constrain as me (or my brain. But I ~~hate~~ to brag, really). So I pushed myself, allowed the twins to be my sole motivation. And on the day before Newt’s supposedly last, I successfully killed the parasite without affecting the surrounding brain tissue—in a petri dish. I ran to Newt and Sonya’s, told them everything, and Sonya frowned exactly when I expected her to: when I mentioned petri dish. Newt was as sane as I’ve ever seen him that day, and he begged me to inject the drug immediately. The drug was not FDA approved yet, hadn’t been through human clinical trial, with unknown side effects. Newt pleaded and pleaded, he told me since he was going to die anyway the next day, might as well inject it. I was forced to choose between jeopardizing my career to help my boyfriend, or missing out at one chance to help him and let him die without a fight. I think you already know what I did and what happened. Newt recovered after exactly five days (and my career blew up). He was back on his feet, back to finishing his residency in Digestive Surgery, with one side effect sticking with him for the rest of his life. There was some irreversible damage on his emotional control. Newt lived with the price of his control over his anger and sadness. He would have panic attacks, threw a fit and cried every now and then, but with some anxiolytics and mood stabilizers we were able to get it under control. 

So, what does this have anything to do with me being a central nervous system god? The take home message is that, as I have said earlier, I never failed, until last year. Yes, I’m finally talking about the plane crash. It was early on last year; we were going to leave for New York for our winter break. Yeah, doctors don’t get breaks, but we decided to take our leave to give Mia, our daughter, some quality time with her busy fathers. Newt had to leave from the hospital because he had to finish his shift, while I got to get ready from home with my sweet bundle of joy. Oh, you should see her face in those fluffy faux fur coats and little beanies. Anyways, the hospital was closer to the airport and the route from our home to the airport was flooded with traffic. Long story short, Newt got to the airport first with our tickets, and I got stuck in traffic with Brenda driving Mia and I there. We didn’t get on the plane and Newt decided to leave without us, told me to catch a later flight. So I did. The flight was two hours apart, and it takes seven hours to get to New York from LA. 

Imagine the horror of learning that the plane carrying your husband went missing just after you landed where you expected him to wait for you. The day was a blur. I stayed in our hotel for one night just to watch the news and get updates on the plane’s location. I called my parents and Brenda, cried to them for the first time in a while. “Go home, my sweet. We will find Newton, together.” It was all I could remember from the conversation I had with my mother. Mia was surprisingly calm and whined very little; except for that one time she realized that her papa was missing. I couldn’t tell her the truth myself and let my mom handle it the next day.

After three days, they found the plane in some fucking woods in the middle of fucking nowhere (I really didn’t care where, Brenda took care of it). I insisted that they transported Newt to LA, whatever his condition might be. It turned out that my beloved was still alive, and it was probably one of the best news I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Another three days passed and Newt had arrived in the Glade hospital with a left leg that looked purplish up to where it had been broken—mid-femur, bone exposed, with jagged wound edge telling me it was a nasty break. He had lost a lot of blood, the wound was probably infected at the time, he was only resuscitated just enough to keep him alive. I wasn’t sure if his leg was viable, but the stupid conceited surgical god in me was convinced that his leg was still salvageable. I convinced Teresa to help me save the leg, although as an orthopedic surgeon she figured his best bet was to have his leg amputated. I was excited to tell Newt, who wasn’t fully alert but didn’t slip completely into stupor, about the plans I had for his leg.

“Cut it off.” was all that he said to shut down my entire idea. I was too sure of myself to consider Teresa’s opinion, which was apparently shared with Newt. They told me the wound had been exposed for too long not to let bacteria eat his leg away, and if we don’t cut it off soon the bacteria will flood his blood, taking his life away.

Do you know what happened after that?

My idiot ‘I’m-the-best-surgeon-in-the-country’ self completely disregarded my husband’s wishes and insisted that his leg was indeed salvageable _after_ he was knocked unconscious under anesthesia. “You’re doing this against his will!” Teresa scolded me, but went with it under one condition: none of the staff involved in the surgery should be held responsible for any adverse events after the surgery. I agreed to it and proceeded with the surgery that was supposed to saw Newt’s leg off. Newt woke up screaming in terror, looking at the left leg that he had expected to lose. He banned me from his case and the hospital suspended me for one month. I wasn’t allowed to set foot in it for as long as Newt wanted. My pristine career went downhill overnight because of one patient that started it all: Newt. After being banned for one week, Brenda called me and told me to go back to the hospital. “Newt is in septic shock.” The sentence echoed in my head the whole drive to the hospital. He could’ve died had Teresa not act so quickly. She cut his leg off, the infection healed, Newt came home healthy. But the husband I married wasn’t inside the healthy shell. Newton went—somewhere. I tried apologizing many times but he wouldn’t talk. The only time he would talk was when Mia was around. It went on for two months and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is this the parent you want to be for Mia?”

“Don’t you think she would eventually find out that her dads aren’t talking?”

“You do realize we can lose her, right?”

Out of all answers he could’ve thought of, he managed, “It’s all your fault.” My head felt like it was burning and I was so close to punching our bedroom wall. “I couldn’t believe the guy who saved my life would want to risk losing it after trying so hard to save it.” He said it in such a calm manner that it hurt me so much more. I was at a complete loss of words. His words stung every fiber of my being and it was and still is stuck with me. It took me a single failure to look at myself the way I would never pictured myself before: as a failure. Despite finally making up for the sake of our daughter, his words never left my head, ringing permanently in his gentle soothing voice saying those exact words. I found myself waking up at night frequently, gasping for air, reminded of my failure. Strange how you don’t need to be the one who survived a plane crash or lost a leg to experience post-traumatic stress disorder. You just need to be the one who almost killed that person because of the egotistical person that you are.

It may sound like something that I can easily get over. No, no, you don’t know me that well. Like I said, I never failed in my life, ever. The accident was not completely an accident. I was sleepy, true. But when that truck flashed at my car from the opposite direction because I merged into the wrong lane, I may have stepped on the brake too late and did not swerve as sharply as I could have. Is it wrong to think about ending my life over this one critical failure? You might think it is, but I’m that hard on myself. So hard that I lost sight of the man I love, who is making the most out of his life and never sweat about missing a huge chunk of him, and the little girl that I’ve promised to take care of. I haven’t paid attention to how I’ve been treating them the past year, I always felt like I’m barely there. Correction: I was barely there. It had been a tough year for the both of us, and Newt had been doing his part to make this relationship work. I had been using work as an excuse to get away with things. You know that point in a relationship, when you can’t really say your relationship is great, but it’s not horrible either? It’s been like that with Newt and I. And it needs to change.

\---- 

“Newt. You’re going home soon aren’t you?” Minho looked up to his husband, who was shuffling about the small dresser in the room, folding their clothes. “Where’s Mia?” 

“Mia is staying at Brenda and Teresa’s. And yeah I’m going home. What’s up?” Newt turned around, revealing his tired droopy eyes. It’s 7 in the morning and he had only had 2 hours of sleep in his husband’s room couch. He’s been in the same dark blue scrubs for two days and he had not seen the light of day. It hurt Minho to see him so worn out over his ungrateful self. It’s not like Newt to worry every day. But when Teresa told them that Minho’s left hand might not be able to fully recover its initial strength, Newt hadn’t been emitting anything but sadness from his face.

Minho tried really hard to tell him that it wasn’t going to affect his career as much as he thought because of his dexterity, to no avail. _“You’re a surgeon, more than you are a father to Mia, more than you are a husband to me. What are you going to do with a half-functioning hand?”_ Newt kept saying those words, and they hit Minho like a million spears to his heart. It hurt him so much because he’s not wrong. Naturally he would pick up a fight, but he realized if he did their relationship will further be broken beyond repair. He didn’t want that to happen. He figured he would try something that might cheer him up—maybe even fix their relationship. “Could you please take our photo albums and wedding DVD when you get back here?” 

“Sure, what for?” Newt raised one eyebrow, surprised at his husband’s change of action. There was a tone in Minho’s voice that tells Newt that he was being out of his usual self. _He’s usually cold, did something change?_

“Just wanna go through them with you.”

“Oh. Okay?” He was even more confused. “I’ll see you tonight.”


End file.
